


Ball of Confusion

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Gapfillerpalooza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-12
Updated: 2005-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-14 16:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The soft thunk of the bathroom door sliding closed effectively cuts off the buzzing voices of Brian and the two tricks, and Justin crosses to the vanity, clutches the edges of the sink, and closes his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ball of Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 504  
> Written for LJ's Gapfillerpalooza

  
_It’s complicated.  
\-- Justin Taylor_   


The soft thunk of the bathroom door sliding closed effectively cuts off the buzzing voices of Brian and the two tricks, and Justin crosses to the vanity, clutches the edges of the sink, and closes his eyes.

He can’t remember their names, and that’s bothering him. Two men, just two random guys culled from the crowd at Babylon because they looked hot, because they looked fuckable, and it shouldn’t even matter that he can’t remember their names. Because how did it go way back when? No names, no numbers exchanged. One of The Rules, and though most of them have fallen by the wayside now, including that one, he finds himself still trying to follow them. Still blocking out the names of the guys he lets fuck him. The guys he fucks.

He thinks that maybe he’s trying to compensate for all those times when The Rules didn’t seem so important, when a kiss and a song seemed more necessary and vital than love and trust.

He wishes he’d stop paying attention when Daphne prattles on about her psych courses.

Justin opens his eyes and stares at himself in the mirror. Eyes dark, hair tousled. He’s glad he turned down the joint, because his brain is scrambled enough as it is. He tells himself it doesn’t matter what their names are, Bob and Steve, Chuck and Tim, who the fuck cares? They were there, they were willing, and a lot may have changed since he was seventeen, but his love of cock isn’t one of them.

He doesn’t feel guilty, or ashamed, or embarrassed.

He doesn’t know what he feels, and his reflection doesn’t have any answers.

Justin runs the water and cups his hands under the stream. Splashes the cold water on his face. He remembers his father’s endless renovations to the back yard. First a fence, then a deck, then new patio stones, make the fence higher, add a wall, on and on. Because nothing was ever good enough. There always had to be more.

Justin knows that another thing that hasn’t changed since he was seventeen is his love for Brian. His need, his desire, his knowledge that he belonged with Brian, would always belong with Brian. And now he’s _got_ Brian. They are partners, lovers, friends. And he doesn’t want to be like his father... he doesn’t want this churning in his gut that signals the need for _something_. Something that he can’t identify. Something that he can’t explain.

He doesn’t hear the door slide open behind him. He just feels the press of Brian’s chest against his back, the nudge of Brian’s dick against his hip, the soft touch of Brian’s hands at his waist. He breathes deeply when Brian’s lips caress the nape of his neck, and he blindly reaches up and drags his fingers through Brian’s sweat-soaked hair.

“You were taking a long time,” Brian says, resting his chin on Justin’s shoulder.

“Where are--

 _Dave and Terry? Mike and Ryan?_

“-- the guys?”

“I sent them home,” Brian says. “But... I got their number. In case...”

Justin lifts a shoulder. They don’t have a curfew, and he’s definitely exchanged numbers in bars and locker rooms, and there are certain names that he can’t quite forget -- Connor James comes to mind -- but No Repeats is one of the old Rules that he intends to stick with. He turns in Brian’s arms and shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

Brian presses his lips together and nods. “I’ll toss it.”

“Good.”

And when Brian’s lips meet his, he knows that for some things, it‘s really that simple.

He pulls away from the kiss and runs his fingers gently down Brian’s cheek. “Brian,” he begins, but then he doesn’t know what to say. How to explain the unexplainable.

“Brian,” he says again, “do you ever feel... fucked up?”

Brian slouches to look apprehensively into his eyes. “That E should be worn off by now,” Brian says, and Justin has to hold back the totally inappropriate laugh that suddenly bubbles up inside, because the anxious look on Brian’s face is really no laughing matter. It is, in fact, somewhat sweet, and endearing, and Justin finds that the urge to laugh dies as quickly as it rose, replaced by something warm and heavy that clogs his throat and takes his breath away.

“Not like that,” Justin murmurs. “It’s... it’s just...” He searches Brian’s face, searches inside, and comes up empty. Justin sighs. “I don’t even know.”

Brian blinks, once, slowly, before bridging what little gap remains between their bodies. Justin’s head automatically drops back when Brian dips his head, soft lips sliding across his collarbone. “Well,” Brian says, teeth nipping gently at the shell of Justin’s ear, “when you figure it out...”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

Brian’s hand leaves Justin’s waist to smooth over his ass. When one finger skims lightly over his hole, Justin shivers.

Brian pulls away. “Too soon?”

Justin lets his kiss answer for him.

In the heat of the shower, with Brian inside him, around him, enveloping him… nothing seems complicated.


End file.
